


Stage Fright

by Writing-Rammstein (writingfanfic)



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Gen, stage fright
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 21:44:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13983924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-Rammstein
Summary: For the prompt: 'Could you please write a fic where Till is having a panic attack before he goes on stage and Reesh reassures him and talks him down.'Probably not about what you think it's gonna be about.





	Stage Fright

“<He’s stomping.>”

Christoph looked up at Richard, who was watching Till, and then over at the lead singer, who was at the far end of the dressing room, marching from one end to the other and muttering to himself.

“<I know,>” Richard said, quietly, and Christoph shrugged.

“<You or me?>” he asked quietly, and Richard shook his head.

“<I’ll go.>” He patted Christoph’s shoulder and made his way past him, heading down away from the group - Till was still pacing, and as Richard approached he could hear the muttering. _It’s going to be okay. I’m good at this. I’ve done this before. It’s going to be okay_.

“<You okay?>” Richard asked, quietly, and Till nodded, not looking at him, not stopping pacing. “<You need to step outside? I could use some company for a smoke.>”

“<I’m okay. I’m good at this.>” Till looked up at Richard, sad, purple-bagged eyes full of panic. “<I’m going to be okay.>”

“<Okay. What’s caused this?>” Richard asked quietly, and Till shook his head. “<What happened?>” He didn’t reach out - Till was currently in his ‘disturbed bear’ state, and to touch him could mean losing a hand. “<Do you need a drink?>”

“<I’m okay.>” Till swallowed. “<Rich, what if they fucking hate us? What if they hate me?>”

“<Then there’s 21,000 idiots out there who bought tickets to a band they don’t like,>” Richard said calmly, and Till shook his head, as if he were trying to clear it. “<Till. We’re hardly some shitty garage band, we’re playing the M.E.N.>”

“<But what if… what if we get out there, and I can’t remember a word? What if they don’t care? What if nobody cheers, or sings…>” He put his hand to his eyes. “<I can’t fucking remember how to sing _Mein Teil_. What’s the words again? >”

“<Till, I’m not going to sing _Mein Teil_ to you. >” Richard put his hands on his shoulders. “<You can do this. You’ve done it, a thousand times.>” He gritted his teeth. “<We all believe in you. You’ve done this before.>” Till was staring at him in what could be described as ‘blind terror’, except the light in his eyes implied he could see _everything_ \- every future where he fucked up, drastically and in great detail. “ <What’s the setlist?>”

“<Uh. Uh…>” Till was shaking now, and Richard gripped him tighter. “ _Reise Reise_. _Mutter_. _Keine Lust_. _Feuer Frei_. _Tier_. _Waidmann’s Heil_ …” He stopped, and blinked. “ _M-Mein Teil. Ich Tuh Dir Weh. Mein Herz Brennt. Du Reichst So Gut._ ” The way he repeated each song title in its entirety was almost like a mantra for him. “ _Links 2-3-4. Ich Will. Du Hast._ ”

“<Well done. It’s _Du Hast_ and then _Ich Will_ , but nearly.>” Richard patted his arm awkwardly, and Till nodded slowly. “<Encore?>”

“ _Engel. Te Quiero P-Puta._ ” Till closed his eyes. “<Can I persuade you to go through all of the lyrics to everything right now?>”

“<Not a chance in hell, we’re on in fifteen,>” Richard grinned, and Till took a deep breath, before exhaling it. “<Come on, you dickhead. Shot of tequila and I’ll let you punch me in the stomach. You’ll feel fine.>” Till nodded, smiling, and Richard shook his head. “<We’re all out there. I’ll… I don’t know. Run through the pyros or something to distract everyone.>”

“<Don’t you _dare_ ,>” Till said, and Richard clapped his arm around the larger man. “<Okay. Thanks, Rich.>” He headbutted him affectionately, and Richard pressed a kiss to the side of his head.

“<You’re a twat,>” he said, fondly. “<Come on.>”


End file.
